


When There is Nothing Left for Me to Say

by windandthestars



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Community: sanctuary_bingo, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-26
Updated: 2011-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-23 02:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s not addicted though; it’s a social thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When There is Nothing Left for Me to Say

**Author's Note:**

> For hc_bingo insomnia and sanctuary_bingo black. Title and inspiration from this [lovely prose](http://www.flickr.com/photos/prescience/6081657189/in/photostream). I can't say I see Will as a smoker, but something about this particular situation wouldn't let me leave it.

It’s the wisp of smoke drifting up into the black from a fire still smoldering across the city that gets him, the sight of smoke being blown as if on an exhale, a tired sigh. He used to smoke, socially he insisted even now to himself, in those awkward teenage years between summer days spent hidden and cool in the basement, and evenings in the local library.

It’s not something he thinks about often, but the sight of the smoke and the longing he’s feeling goes a long way toward tugging the memory free, pulling it up until it sits fresh and raw in his memory.

He misses her, misses feeling like he’s home, because despite the fact he is, it doesn’t feel that way, not anymore. He misses the way she smells when he buries his nose in her hair, misses the smile that’s his alone. He misses the way the taste of the tea she had been drinking lingers on his lips when he leans over her desk to steal a forbidden kiss. It’s sweet, chasing away the longing and the loneliness like tar and nicotine bitter, burning yellow on his empty fingers. She fills his lungs and makes him dizzy, smoke swirling, biting like her love, aching. It fills him up, turns his insides black, leaves him queasy. He craves her and it kills him that she’ll never know.

They flirt. He steals a kiss, a real kiss, despite the fact she’ll never admit it to anyone let alone herself. They play the same game as the weeks weave into one another, blur. He follows her blindly, a love sick addict and wonders sometimes, during times like tonight, how it had gotten this far, how he had convinced himself that two am was the appropriate time to be pining for the one thing she had promised him he could never have.

She was a woman of her word.

He had known that long before any of this had started, long before the wondering and wanting had folded in on itself, twisted into something black and ugly. He had chased it away again and again with blonde hair and hazel eyes, humor and a goofy innocence.

It’s been years since then, since that new addiction had become old.

That’s not something he thinks on often either. Up here though, it’s different tucked away from the world. The wind is dry and warm tonight, a left over remnant from the day’s heat. His eyes feel gritty as he rubs a hand over his face.

He can’t stay up here much longer, not if he wants to be alone. She’ll be up soon to chase away her own daemons. It’s been a long day, a trying week. She’s as alone in this as he his.

He takes one last look out over the slumbering city and exhales. He half expects to see his breath frozen in the air, glowing, eerie grey, before disappearing. He’s not addicted though; it’s a social thing.


End file.
